The Sun
by ArentYouSophiaLoren-8887
Summary: Jake's never had much to say, but he's realized that sometimes, there are no words even when you need them.


**Author's Note: I wrote this story about a year ago and actually used it as a piece for a creative writing class in school. Decided to post it up here, since it technically began as a Degrassi fanfic, and I just changed some names and situations around when I handed it in for class. **

**Reminder that I am on Twitter: AlbatrossTam14 (protected tweets) **

**And Tumblr: welldeservedobscurity  
**

**I don't own Degrassi. **

**I.**

_There are seven crayons in the box, and most of them are broken or at least cracked inside the wrapping, their ends blunted with crud from past scribbles. The white crayon is the only one untouched, but who uses that anyway. It's like writing in invisible ink, or the residue of a dream you can't remember. _

_He isn't sure what he started off drawing, but he doesn't notice at first that the lines he was making are all running in a circle, round and round and round, and even if he breaks the loop he still remains in a circle, like his arm wasn't under his control. Before he knows he what he's making, he adds the orange, then the red, then more yellow, always the circles, always an endless and uncontrolled loop. _

_The not-a-real-doctor is watching him, but doesn't say a word. He hasn't this entire time, not since slid the box of crayons and the piece of paper in front of Jake and said, "Draw what you feel."_

_Jake didn't ask what that meant, just started coloring. The scribbles etch to the farthest edges of the paper, sometimes running off the page entirely onto the sticky placemat. It's bright and angry and pulsing, the hottest noonday sun. _

**II.**

Before they left for the funeral, Dad kept the blinds closed. Still, people came anyway. Sometimes his dad would answer, but most of the time he'd let the bell ring and told Jake to stay away from the door and windows. He didn't want people to know they were home, even if the car was in the driveway.

They slept in the family room now, and even when people came over they didn't try to clean up for company. Dad hadn't slept in his and Mom's room since That Day, and Jake hadn't gone upstairs. He slept on a blow-up mattress in the family room and his dad slept on the couch. They rarely needed to leave their little corner of the first floor, with the kitchen, bathroom, and family room all intertwined.

People came and left.

They all brought the same: pasta and words. Baked ziti; "I hope you never have to lose someone else any time soon"; spaghetti Bolognese, "I hope this doesn't leave you in doubt and disbelief"; fettuccine Alfredo, "her suffering must have been tremendous"; ravioli; "how long are you going to wear both rings?"; something he couldn't pronounce that started with a G, "at least you still have Jake; you need to be good for him, now; he needs you to be happy and healthy and moving on so he can learn".

He wouldn't have tried to make them feel better. He wanted to yell. Beat them up. Drop bombs on them till they were dead or stopped trying to feed them.

**III.**

left jake with our neighbor

didnt want to but i needed a haircut

hadnt had one since –

so I left him

and while I was driving through town

realized it was the first time since –

that ive really been alone

no jake

no pals

no family

ended up driving past the gas station where

Lydia

got a discount on carwashes

probably because the guy working there never heard a southern accent before

no one flirt(ed) like her

when i came back

jake looked at me for a long time and said

dad they didnt cut your hair good it still looks the same

**IV.**

What he remembers: There's this one time, he was in the car with his parents and they passed a church. A tree hung in the courtyard, its autumn branches brushing up against the cracked white wall. The clumps of leaves were as big as a flame when the sun hit them. He pointed out the window and said, "That looks like fire."

His dad murmured, "Hmm?" but didn't turn his head to look.

His mom turned to look at him, then looked where he was pointing. She looked at the sun and said, "Fire." She winked at him.

**V.**

The graveyard was shaded by a tree that still had leaves on it, even now in the middle of January. It was still cold, but not icy like it was back home. He was surprised that he could walk on the cracked pavement leading to the plot without slipping on a patch of black ice or needing his heavy snow boots.

Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, he dared sneak a peek to look up at the sky.

It could have been any other day of the year. There were cars driving on the highway next to the cemetery. The trees weren't hampered in snow; the buildings didn't drip icicle weapons. There wasn't a cloud in the sky; the unchecked sunshine kept him warm.

The preacher started talking, and Jake recognized the prayer. It was the one everybody had to memorize in Sunday school. _He makes me lie down in green pastures…_ there were plenty of pastures here. He'd never seen such a warm, snowless winter before.

Nana was crying, but she had been all day. Jake looked up when he heard a sound he figured might have come from Nana but didn't sound like it did, because it didn't sound like a person could make that noise, but other people were looking at Nana too and Uncle David put an arm around her but not Pop because Pop was crying too just without any noise. Uncle David wasn't crying but for some reason he looked mad, but Jake didn't know why, except maybe he wanted Nana to stop crying.

**VI.**

needed to drive to the grocery store tonight

when my son reminded me

we have no milk

for cereal

thats all he eats nowadays is fruity pebbles

i should probably stop him and make him eat something that doesn't turn his tongue green

or that could rot his teeth

but he wants fruity pebbles

got his milk

stopped at the gas station

got a lottery ticket

guess i wanted to see how shitty my luck actually is

ended up winning thirty bucks

paid the gas station guy and bought jake a thing of milk because i remembered he wanted some

went back to the car to give it to him

he said dad we already got milk

the gas station guy looked at me weird when i gave him the milk and told him to keep it

it wasnt until we got home that i realized it was one am

a single guy with a little boy in the backseat offering someone milk in the middle of the night

no wonder he looked at me weird

these days everyone who knows

and people who dont

all look at me weird

**VII.**

What he remembers: Cottonwoods are pretty, but they're a pain in the ass. Every June his dad grumbles about picking the flurrying bits of the shedding trees out of their screen door and the vents of their condensing units. Some years it's just a little bit here and there, and other times it's like a blizzard in June. His mother loved the cottonwoods. Some mornings she would go for walks around their cabin, and the entire ground would be scattered with the flurries. She'd pick handfuls of it up and throw it at him like a snowball, then watch it fall apart before it reached him. She would take a small branch and show him that if you cut it right along the ridge joint, you could see the small star on the inside. He'd pick through the bits and hand her blossoms that were almost whole.

His dad never liked it when they'd drag it back in the house. "This stuff gets everywhere," he'd complain, picking the bits that clung to Jake's hair.

After she died, his dad cut a bunch of them down, and then there was no more summertime snow.

**VIII.**

When they were getting ready to go back to Nana and Pop's house, Uncle David grabbed Jake by the shoulder and whirled him around.

"You better not ever do that shit," he told Jake. "Ever. I mean it. Never do this."

**IX.**

went to the furniture store today

looked for doorknobs

Lydia

said she wanted to replace them

no one buys a house with

old doorknobs

nine years from now

jake will have spent

more time

apart

from

Lydia

then he spent

with

her

didnt buy any doorknobs

i dont know which ones are good

for me it will take eleven years

but jake doesnt even have ten

with his

mother

**X.**

He doesn't sleep much. For some reason he feels itchy a lot, like there are ants crawling through his blood. It's an itch that sinks deep into his bones. He paces down the halls and then walks around the kitchen in circles until his dad tells him to stop it. Sometimes he wraps himself in a blanket and rolls on the floor or takes the stuff off of the bookcase and tries to climb the shelves. But whenever he tries to lay down to sleep, the prickles poke under his skin. The itch gets so bad he scratches himself bloody at times, trying to get it to stop.

**XI.**

He and his dad climbed out of Uncle Alan's car when they got back to the house. Uncle Alan headed inside and Jake went to follow, but he saw his dad out of the corner of his eye and stopped. His dad was standing in the middle of the street and looked around like he was trying to find something, then made a noise like he was cursing but it wasn't a word.

**XII.**

long day today

Alan called today to ask how we were doing

(shitty how do you think)Ok

Alan asked me if i was coming down for easter

normally we did holidays

as switching off every year

one year in Canada

another in the states

something tells me

Lydia

's family wont want to see us

her sister hasn't talked to me since –

jake said he doesnt want to go back to school after christmas break ends

dont blame him

but pretty sure I would be labeled worst father ever

if my kid grew up to be a grade two drop out

working at the gas station

getting handed cartons of milk

by fucking crazies like me

**XIII.**

Windchimes. Someone laughing. A truck that looked like Dad's back home drove by the house. The leaves crunched under his feet. Someone at the house next to him took the dog outside to poop. They got the main. They waved at Jake and his dad. Dad didn't see him, Jake didn't wave back.

Uncle Alan was standing on Pop and Nana's front porch. "Glen!" he shouted.

When Dad didn't turn his head, Jake looked back at Uncle Alan. He stared at Dad, then saw Jake and beckoned him to come inside. Dad was still standing in the middle of the street.

When Jake was little they'd had a cat. It had been an outdoor cat and rarely came in the house unless it was to eat or sometimes sit on the couch with his mom, only her. Jake had seen it die after getting stuck in the garage door and for some reason he thought of this now when he looked at his dad. He saw the look on the cat's face when the door crushed him.

**IX.**

jake asked me today

"why did you and

mom

get the cabin?"

fuck

Lydia

loved

cottonwoods

silence

marshlands

smell of the summers there

space

but i couldnt tell that to jake

without making him

remember

georgia

the only time hed been there

**X.**

What he remembers: The first night in Georgia he woke up shivering and his teeth chattering. He tiptoed down the hall past his dad and went to the heater. He checked to make sure it was on, because he couldn't tell if it was really that cold in the house or if he was just shivering on his own.

**XI.**

Jake followed Uncle Alan inside. The coat he was wearing suddenly felt too heavy to carry, so he took it off and hid it in a ball behind a potted plant. People were talking in the living room, right near where Pop and Nana put their Christmas tree every year, the one with Jake's mom's old ornaments from when she was his age. Some lady was talking to a guy and girl holding hands.

"Iceland is supposed to be this real up-and-comer for vacations." He pulled the girl to his shoulder and wound his arm around her waist. "Like Alaska. We thought about going there, but Iceland seemed more exotic. Plus, it's our honeymoon and everything. You kinda want this one chance to go all out. And Hawaii's been done to death."

"Sounds very…cold," the woman laughed. "I heard the sun never comes out there!"

"You can see the northern lights," the girl said. Her fingernails and toenails were blood-colored, and she was wearing a short skirt even though it was January. "And if you go in the summer, you can see the midnight sun."

The guy nodded. "In the winter, though, you hardly see it."

**XII.**

jake and i went for a hike around the cabin

havent been here since –

passed the river

it always dries up in the summer

and smells like everything in it died

i think jake missed school again

but i couldnt remember if it was thursday or saturday

if hes not in school

they cant try to force that kid shrink on him

the principle tried to talk me into it

i think shes out of her fucking mind

but i wouldnt put it past them to try and sic one of the quacks on jake

**XIII.**

What he remembers: He took a bath the day before they flew out to Georgia. He stood in the middle of the steam-filled bathroom and couldn't see his reflection in the mirror. It was like when he and his mom would blow on the windows and draw pictures on them. He marched naked down the hallway to his dad's desk and got a pair of scissors from his desk, then went back into the hazy bathroom. He sat on the floor and cut off bits and pieces of his hair. When the mirror cleared and he could sort-of see himself in the blurry glass, there were whole sections of his hair missing. It looked like someone had tried to yank his scalp off, like something had tried to claw its way inside his head. Or out.

**XIV.**

Uncle Rory bumped into Jake trying to carry a tray loaded with Aunt Liz's pastry things she made every Christmas, when the whole family got together in this house and Jake would eat so many he'd usually get a stomach ache. They made his stomach hurt now, too.

"Woops!" Uncle Rory said. He put the tray down and laughed, ruffling Jake's hair in that way he hated. Everybody thought they could touch him now and he hated that, too.

"I'm sorry, Jakers," he said. Jake scowled. Stupid nicknames. Everyone was giving them to him these days. They were almost as bad as all the touchy-huggy-kissy crap.

"Hey," Rory said. He bent down to Jake's eye-level. He had The Tone. "Hey. I know, Buddy, I'm sorry."

Jake stared at Rory.

"It's all bad and messy and ugly. But your mom did one thing right. Because I know you, and your dad."

Jake pulled at his collar. It itched. "I'm thirsty," he said.

Uncle Rory's face doesn't change. It's like he didn't even hear Jake. "You didn't do anything wrong. Right, Little Dude?"

Little Dude. What a stupid nickname. It was so stupid.

Stupid idiot. Stupid _fucking_ idiot. Stupid fucking _shitty_ idiot.

**XV.**

its thursday and i cant stand looking at the dryer

two hours of sleep

**XVI.**

He and Dad are standing on the crest of the hill and watching the horizon bob and rise over the treetops, except the sun isn't really moving, the ground is, because the earth revolves around the sun not the other way around. The heat makes everything shimmer, like a mirage, the world dripping and waving like it isn't real. The earth breathes underneath him, lifting him up into the scorched sky closer and then farther away. He can't breathe in that kind of heat; he tries to get some air and instead gags on the dust and the sick-sweet tickle of pine sap that burns the back of his throat when he swallows. It makes him feel like he's floating, like the ground underneath him dissolves under the sparkling heat. The pulse of the pines rushes to match his own. He can feel the beat of the earth in his ears, pounding, whooshing, breaking, thudding along with his own, as the pulse of the shimmering world matches the one in his chest, in his throat, in the blackness behind his eyes; the heart of the breathless valley…

He can feel it in his cheek, too, when he can see again; his face is pressed to the dusty tufts of marsh grass even though he can't remember passing out or hitting the ground. He can still feel the heavy beat of the earth as he breathes in the carpet of pine needles. Even though he can feel the ground on his face, he still feels like he's suspended in the air above the marshlands, hanging in the honeysuckle silence.

Then hands are grabbing him and flipping him on his back; they feel down his sides, across his back, behind his head, on his forehead. "Jake…buddy…talk to me. Come on. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

It takes a moment for the pound to fade in his ears, to stop resonating through his shaking limbs. His face is damp, but he can't remember why, and he feels nauseous. He still can't stand, but his dad keeps him sitting upright, brushing away the dirt, gripping his shoulders.

"You scared me there, Big Guy," he murmurs. "It's all right, you're all right.

**XVII.**

He found his dad on the deck with Uncle Alan.

"You should go see a financial advisor, you know," Uncle Alan was saying.

His dad was leaning against the railing, looking over the edge

"Why?" his dad said. He took a sip of his beer. "I don't get any benefits."

Uncle Alan cleared his throat and took a sip of his own drink.

"They could go through Lydia's financial records…"

"I already did that. Felt like hacker scum."

"Still," he said, "…it might help. I know there's a lot to go through. They can help. Make it real easy."

"For money," his dad said in a voice that for some reason reminded Jake of those clawing tree arms, or the hard pack of the cold ground under his feet. "There's some irony there."

"Well…" Uncle Alan began, then laughed but not like something was funny, laughed like he thought he had to do it. "Yeah, no such thing as a free lunch…"

Jake inched forward onto the deck, then pulled himself back to stand hidden in the doorway. He stayed and watched his dad staring out at the black woods.

"I never did get that saying," he said finally.

"What?"

His dad sighed. "We'll be fine." He took another sip. "Probably won't need to sell Jake for the cash. Hope not. He's grown on me."

Uncle Alan let out another one of those not-really-laughs. He started coughing midway through and then went quiet.

Jake slipped out of the doorway unnoticed and went back inside the house.

**XVIII.**

boxed up

Lydia

's piano books today

after stacking a few

dumped it all in a garbage bag

then ripped off a key

that was becoming unstuck and made a weird jangle when you struck it

now there's an empty space in the middle of the white keys

cant remember ever wanting to hear her play

**XIX.**

He heard a familiar voice as he passed the kitchen, and he poked his head around the doorway to see Aunt Liz and Uncle Rory. Aunt Liz was making a salad and Uncle Rory was mixing lemonade.

"Make sure to make a pitcher of diet lemonade," Aunt Liz was saying.

"Who drinks diet lemonade?" Uncle Rory asked.

"You drink diet coke," Aunt Liz said.

It was quiet.

"Surprised they got a minister for this," Aunt Liz said. "Don't know why they didn't get Pastor Eric. I've known him my whole life." She paused. "Maybe he wouldn't."

"Maybe they couldn't get him on such short notice."

Aunt Liz snorted. "It's not short notice if she's been talking about it forever."

Uncle Rory cleared his throat. "It was a nice sermon."

"It's a relief," Aunt Liz said, almost in a rush.

Uncle Rory stopped stirring the lemonade.

Aunt Liz didn't look up from her salad. "I don't have to listen to her shit anymore."

"Liz…"

Aunt Liz whipped around. "I don't have to put up with her shit! I feel better!"

She stood brandishing a large spoon at Uncle Rory, then turned back to her salad. "We shouldn't buy the salad mixes at Wal-Mart anymore," she said as she went back to mixing. "They have too much cabbage in them. No one likes cabbage."

**XX.**

drove around all day while jake was in school

cant be at the house

kathy sent the whole family an email about reid and bailey's honeymoon

in iceland

in january

I think theyre nuts

who goes to a place like that in the coldest part of winter

plus isnt there no sun there this time of year

its touristy name is

the land where fire and ice collide

theres even a sun

who knew

when i got back home i locked my keys in the door

stupid fucking day

fucking

Lydia

**XXI.**

What he remembers: The Night Before, the mattress dipped, then there was a slight weight next to him. There was an airy brush of fingers through his hair, and the sheets waved and brushed against him lightly, like a sigh. "Had a bad dream, Baby Boy," she whispered. She wrapped her arms around his stomach and pulled him in like she was trying to draw him back into her skin, under her bones.

**XXII.**

His shoes were pinching him so he took them off and put them under a table. He took one of Aunt Liz's pastries then wadded it up in a napkin – it bled dark jelly – and put it back on the table. He went upstairs to the guest bedroom where Dad and Mom always slept when they visited and lay down with the door closed and the blinds shut.

Jake liked to think about the cabin when he couldn't sleep. He hadn't really slept since That Day, so he thought about it a lot.

He imagined he was climbing the canyons, then down in the valleys, running on the banks through the reeds and marshwater grass higher than his waist. Plucking blackberries from fat bushes and climbing the treetops. He would keep climbing until he was flying over the leafy canopy of the full-bloom cottonwood trees, high enough to grab the sun. He'd glow and shimmer and pulse with the light.

But he couldn't fall asleep and didn't know where to think today, so he just lay there and didn't remember anything.

**XXIII.**

_The not-a-real doctor peers across the table at the drawing. _

"_What does that make you feel about everything?" he asks Jake. He smiles like Jake's a two-year-old._

_Jake keeps circling the page. Everything? It's the sun. It burns __away __everything . _

_It makes everything so bright that it hurts. _

_And then it explodes._

_And then it's the end of the world. _


End file.
